


Famous on the Internet

by Mothfinder_General



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-07 22:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothfinder_General/pseuds/Mothfinder_General
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never, ever look yourself up on Tumblr, Professor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Famous on the Internet

So Lysandre’s kicking back in his secret lab one day when he gets a Holo Caster call from Professor Sycamore. He answers it and hey, what do you know, it’s a hologram of Professor Sycamore’s nose, filling the projected screen.

 

“LYSANDRE. CAN. YOU. HEAR. ME.”

 

“Yes,” says Lysandre, “yes Professor, I can hear you. The Holo Caster was designed for me to be able to hear you across long distances. You don’t have to shout all the way from your lab.”

 

“LYSANDRE. DO YOU KNOW A WEBSITE – ”

 

“Please sit back.”

 

Professor Sycamore’s nose pulls back and becomes Professor Sycamore’s face, flushed with excitement. It’s very often flushed and excited but Lysandre recognises this as Flushed Level 4: I Just Found Out Something Fabulous, Oh My God, Can I Squeal At You About It.

 

“Do you know about a website called Tumblr, mon ami?” he asks. He keeps ruffling his hair and grinning, like a man who’s been asked to show a photographer his best side.

 

Lysandre has not heard of Tumblr, but he’s got an instinct for trouble and his don’t-even-fucking-go-there alarm bells are ringing full blast in his head.

 

“No, I do not,” he says carefully. “Could you stop primping?” It’s distracting, he thinks. I should never have given him a Holo Caster, he treats it like a camera, he can’t stop _flirting_ with it.

 

“We’re famous on it!” said Professor Sycamore, clapping his hands together. “Famous!”

 

“What do you mean, famous?”

 

“I don’t know! I just got an email from my ~~giant space-dwelling carnivorous galaxy spider~~ senpai Professor Oak and he said that I should check it out because we’re _famous_!”

 

“Oh, merde,” mutters Lysandre, who understands the process of being famous on the internet better than Professor Sycamore. “ _Don’t touch anything_. Don’t open up a browser. Don’t type in the website address. Don’t do an image search of yourself. _Don’t. Touch. Anything._ I’m coming over.”

 

So Lysandre hangs up and gets in a taxi with bad grace and rocks up outside the door of Professor Sycamore’s lab and knocks his authoritative knock and Professor Sycamore pulls the door open and goes,

 

“OH MY GOD LYSANDRE WHY.” 

 

“I told you not to look,” says Lysandre calmly, and steps in.

 

The computer on Professor Sycamore’s desk has a picture of Professor Sycamore on it. The picture shows Professor Sycamore bending over a table with a riding crop tapping his bare, pink arse and a Pokéball ball gag in his mouth. It does not show anything else because Professor Sycamore is not wearing anything else.

 

“WHY LYSANDRE.”

 

“The ‘Pokéball gag’ is a nice touch,” says Lysandre drily. “Very funny.”

 

“It’s not funny, it’s not funny at all,” huffs Professor Sycamore, and clicks on another image.

 

This one shows him half naked and bound with red bondage rope, a faintly upset expression on his face. Lysandre starts to feel odd and has to sit down, though he keeps his eyes on the screen.

 

“Good knots,” he says, because it’s all he can think of to say. “Nicely rendered.”

 

“But I don’t know these people!” says Professor Sycamore, dragging his hands through his hair so that it stands out at even madder angles than usual. “Anyway, my bondage rope is blue.”

 

Lysandre elects to ignore this and clicks on the next image. It is a link for something called ‘Professor Amie’. He clicks on that.

 

They watch for a bit.

 

“Nothing’s happening,” says Lysandre, a little disappointed.

 

“Are you supposed to, eh, move the hand?”

 

They move the hand.

 

“ARGH. PUTAIN.”

 

“Someone put a lot of work into this, you know,” says Lysandre reproachfully. “Don’t just swear at the screen.”

 

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?”

 

“Well, your eyes are closing and your mouth is relaxing. It looks as if I am stroking you to sleep,” says Lysandre, then listens back to the words that have just come out of his mouth and blushes. Fortunately Professor Sycamore is staring at the screen.

 

“What’s going on there?” he asks, and points at just the wrong moment.

 

“HOLY FUCK.”

 

“SHITTING HELL.”

 

“GO BACK. GO BACK.”

 

“I’M TRYING.”

 

“TRY HARDER OH MY GOD.”

 

“DON’T SAY HARDER OH MY GOD THAT’S A BAD WORD IN THIS CONTEXT.”

 

“WHY DID YOU DO THAT WHY DID YOU DO THAT WHY.”

 

“I DIDN’T DO ANYTHING I JUST WANTED TO WIN THE GAME BY FILLING UP THAT LITTLE PINK BAR.”

 

Eventually they manage to navigate away from Professor Amie. Lysandre, pink from his chest to his forehead, finds another tag.

 

The tag is #lacewoodshipping. They stare.

 

“Er,” says Lysandre, “isn’t that…”

 

“Oh mon dieu,” says Professor Sycamore, sitting down and putting his head in his hands. “Oh mon dieu.”

 

“Well, she seems to be having a nice time,” says Lysandre, squinting thoughtfully, “look, there’s a little heart coming out of… oh…”

 

“There’s a picture of me on the internet have sex with a _fifteen year old girl_ ,” mumbles Professor Sycamore into his hands. “Oh mon dieu.”

 

“Not, uh, not just having sex,” says Lysandre, who has found another #lacewoodshipping image and now has the image of Serena in a strap-on indelibly printed on his brain.

 

“A _fifteen year old girl_. I’m going to be arrested.”

 

Lysandre has found a #lacewoodshipping picture of Professor Sycamore going at it against a wall. “You’re going to be very arrested indeed,” he says cheerfully. “They will have to invent a new word for how arrested you’re going to be.”

 

“Please look at a different tag,” said Professor Sycamore hoarsely. “That poor child comes in here sometimes with her Pokédex, how am I going to face her, oh, why did I go on Tumblr…”

 

“Why indeed,” says Lysandre, whose eye has been caught by #perfectworldshipping, which sounds like a lovely name. Lysandre loves perfect worlds, he used to write _Avatar_ fanfiction and cry about it at night. He has never told anyone this.

 

He looks through the image results.

 

“What have you found?” asked Professor Sycamore, who still has his head in his hands.

 

“Um,” says Lysandre. Professor Sycamore looks up.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

They click through the images in silence for a bit, until they come across a set of black and white line drawings that makes them both clear their throats noisily. The image set is very unambiguous, very unambiguous indeed.

 

There are more like this. There are quite a lot of finely-drawn white splashes. Professor Sycamore’s mouth is hanging open.

 

“I’m just- is that-”

 

“Yes,” says Lysandre.

 

“I mean- are we- are you-”

 

“Yes,” says Lysandre.

 

Professor Sycamore blinks at the screen. “I feel like I should say something about this.”

 

“Well, I don’t think you can,” says Lysandre, and points at the new image. “You look like you’ve got your mouth full.”

 

“That was tasteless, mon ami.”

 

On the contrary, I can assure you that it tastes quite nice, Lysandre doesn’t say. You should try it sometime, he doesn’t say. We could try it right now, he doesn’t say. Instead he says,

 

“I’m relieved there aren’t as many as me.”

 

Professor Sycamore gives him a grim glare and types ‘lysandre’ into the search bar.

 

“Oh, that one’s good,” he says, perking up. “Look, you’ve still got your cravat on and everything.”

 

“My word,” says Lysandre faintly, who has only just noticed the cock ring he is also still wearing. “Wait, what are you doing?”

 

“Trying to work out how to save images,” says Professor Sycamore, grinning at him.

 

“Stop that at once!”

 

“But it’s so good! I want that picture to come up every time you ring me. On my phone. In high definition. I might even make your ringtone the sound of moaning”

 

“It’s not funny,” growls Lysandre.

 

They click through more ‘lysandre’ pictures, and it’s true, there are fewer of them. But what there are secretly pleases Lysandre inordinately. He doesn’t know the word ‘bara’ but if he _did_ know the word ‘bara’ he’d be thinking, ‘wow I am so bara, wow, everyone should have sex with me immediately, especially this guy, wow.’ As it is, he is absentmindedly feeling his biceps as they click through picture after picture of him rendered with increasingly muscular and brutal-looking physiques and thinking _aw yes who brings the pain_.

 

That is, until Professor Sycamore finds the tag for ‘baras at the bottom’.


End file.
